


(Not Quite A Grandfather) Paradox

by Vae



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than one way to travel through time and space</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not Quite A Grandfather) Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> Torchwood and the characters belong to the BBC and RTD. No infringement of copyright intended, no profit is being made.
> 
> Written for [](http://10-cliche-fics.livejournal.com/profile)[**10_cliche_fics**](http://10-cliche-fics.livejournal.com/) for the prompt "No time like the present". Mild spoilers for Captain Jack Harkness. Claim table [here](http://itinerant-vae.livejournal.com/61195.html). Many thanks to [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for the beta-read. Any remaining errors are all my own fault.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

Blue eyes glare up at him, kindled with furious fire. Blue eyes above a roman nose, chiselled cheekbones, strong jaw, all framed with unruly dark brown hair.

Very familiar blue eyes.

His own eyes.

Oh, yeah. Now he remembers. Now he's got it. Now it all makes horrible, horrifying, nauseating sense. Memories cascade into his brain, one after another, vivid and blurred by uneven turns until his head spins, and his pistol lowers to rest against his leg.

Shit.

Jack slumps back against the damp wall, cold striking easy through old wool, and watches himself – his former self – throw a disdainful glance over his shoulder and stride off towards the Bay.

This one's going to get really, _really_ fucking complicated.

~~~

The alarm had been raised that morning. Alien tech in use on the outskirts of the city, somewhere in Adamsdown. Not just alien tech, but tech a couple of millennia out of its time. Before its time. Of course, most of the stuff that came through the rift was out of its time, but this...this hadn't triggered any alarms when it came through.

"I don't understand it, Jack!" Tosh said, voice thready and high, fingers working frantically on her keyboard, calling up screen after screen of logs. "There's nothing...nothing that suggests a break in monitoring, nothing that's come through, nothing that - "

"Yeah, thanks, Einstein." Owen swung back on his chair, pen flicking in his hand, end over end. "We get it. Your so-called brilliant systems managed to miss a whole mess of highly advanced gadgets arriving in Cardiff from fuck knows where – and fuck knows why it came to fucking _Cardiff_ – which means we could have fuck knows how much stuff floating around the city doing fuck knows what to - "

That was definitely more fucking than Jack was willing to accept from Owen. "Or," he cut in sharply, "it didn't come through the rift." There was more than one way to travel through time and space, after all. Sure, the rift was pretty much the M6 as far as intergalactic travel to Cardiff was concerned, but there were still a few B roads running in, and now and again some flash asshole with a helicopter found a new route. And right, that was one analogy pushed further than it was ever meant to go. "Tosh, get me a location. Owen, just..stay out of trouble. If you can. And don't let Gwen know about this. She's meant to be having a day off with Rhys."

~~~

He hadn't recognised the man at first. There was a nagging familiarity, but to be fair, it wasn't often a man had chance to see his own back.

Nice ass.

Levelling his pistol at the stranger, Jack braced himself and aimed just above the man's shoulder before letting the first shot fly, pinging sharp and hard off the wall. It was enough to bring the stranger to a halt, hands raising slightly but not far enough for safety – for Jack's safety, not that it mattered so much, but getting shot tended to slow him down – and the soft, insinuating chuckle was familiar enough to send prickles along his spine. "Look, buddy, I don't know who you are, or why you're shooting at me, but unless your name happens to be Manger, I really recommend you put the gun down, right now."

The voice stirred something, but it was subtly wrong. Too light, too clear, not quite recognisable, but enough for him to question. Never mind the Manger shit for now, one mess at a time. "Hands on your head, turn around. Now."

"It's not every day a guy gets such a tempting invitation." The laughter sounded again, warm and rich, way too composed for someone with a gun trained on his heart. "Say please."

No way in hell. "Turn the fuck around, or the next one ventilates your brain."

Tension wrapped through the youth, posture suddenly stiff, and Jack could almost taste the thrill running through him. The adrenaline, senses hyper-sharp, heartbeat pounding strong enough to pace the rhythm of confrontation.

He turned around.

~~~

At least there's one thing to be said for having a really fucked up timeline. Well, a fucked up timeline and sudden memory restoration, thanks to the right trigger, though Jack's not exactly sure how come seeing himself in mirrors over the past hundred and thirty eight years hasn't worked as a trigger. Not that seeing himself in a mirror is anything like actually confronting himself, face to face.

Anyway, the point is, he knows how this one's going to turn out. Because he remembers it.

 _Now_ he remembers it.

~~~

"Jack? Jack!"

Ianto. Of course, Ianto, alarmingly efficient. Grimacing, Jack hauls himself back to his feet. If he doesn't say something, Ianto's going to call for backup, and that's the last thing he needs right now. Better to say something.

Shit, no. No chance. He knows enough to keep his team off his tail for a few hours. Off both his tails.

Ianto's as thorough as he's efficient, though, which means he's checking every alley in the area - not to mention that the earpiece is easily trackable from Torchwood's systems. Well, there's an easy way around that one. Quietly, Jack removes his earpiece, tucks it in a dark corner of a doorway that looks like it leads to a warehouse - which means that no one's going to be going through there until morning, and that's more time than he'll need - and swiftly heads down the alley in the opposite direction. Not a dead end, thank fuck, plenty of those around, but a residential courtyard with snicketways well-used by local drugrunners and teenagers out necking.

His boot slides on something wet and rubbery. Yeah. Sometimes more than necking.

It takes a few seconds to orient himself when he gets back to the main streets, and a few more to remember where he was headed. Is headed. Shit, this one's going to be a real mindfuck, in every possible sense.

~~~

The Bay area's almost deserted, which is enough to make him suspect that something unusual's going on. It's only 2 AM, and that's nothing as far as Cardiff's nightlife is concerned.

Almost deserted. Two figures are over by the harbour, one tall with broad shoulders and hands thrust into pockets. The other's small, wiry, hunched forwards slightly, and flickers out of sight almost as soon as Jack manages to identify him. Manger. No wonder the bastard had been so smug back in 1941.

The taller man swings around to face him, laser drawn and aimed squarely in his direction. Jack stops, grins his best 'don't shoot me I'm harmless' grin, and raises his arms. "Well, isn't this a coincidence. Fancy seeing you here. Which name is it this time? Dave? No, Dave didn't last long, did he? Chris? Matthew?"

"Matt," the man who will be Jack grinds out through gritted teeth. "Don't you remember one fucking thing they taught us about temporal anomalies and crossing timelines?"

Jack shrugs. "Matt, right, got you. Every word, Matt. And so do you. Now try telling me what happens when a timeline becomes fixed."

"That's _impossible_."

The laser droops a few vital inches. Risking a few more steps, Jack edges closer. "Scan me."

It's the only thing he can think of that will prove his claim, and he's safe so far. Once Matt's identified them as different versions of the same man, there's not much chance that he'll shoot.

Well. Not to kill.

Probably.

He doesn't remember shooting. But then, he still doesn't remember all the details.

Matt's mouth snaps shut, and he holsters the laser. Jack lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and lowers his hands, stopping still so Matt can approach him.

It's a slow approach, followed by a wide, slow circle. Jack grins, refusing to turn and watch. He knows damn well that Matt won't cut and run, too intrigued by the possibilities, and by the same logic, he won't get shot in the back. "Enjoying the view?"

"Nice," Matt allows. "What's this, then, five years, ten? Looking good, Matthew."

"Name's changed." Still not moving, still not giving anything more than a name. Or part of one. "Jack."

Matt's lips purse in consideration. "Good name. I'll remember it."

There's a certain irony to that, Jack acknowledges silently, but outwardly just nods. "Scan me."

"Still a pushy bastard, too." Matt moves closer, flips his wrist comp open and activates the scan. Then looks at the readings, scans again, checks again. "Oh, you have got to be _kidding_ me. Fixed?"

"Fixed."

"So...?"

"So." Jack nods again, grin widening, and yeah, this bit he remembers. The bit where Matt snaps the comp closed again and then launches himself at Jack.

The punch is thrown first, the one Jack easily deflects because this kid's not learned a single thing about feinting or disguising intent yet. Deflects, catches, and twists, tight hold on Matt's arm behind his back, heat of Matt's breath on his face, width of Matt's smile matching his own. There's a soft noise, not quite a growl, more than a chuckle, halfway between satisfaction and predatory intent and then - yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah, how in hell did he forget any of this? Matt's mouth on his, perfect fit, clash of teeth, lips crushed, fierce, deep, hungry kiss that lasts until they're both panting for air.

"Always wondered how I kissed," Matt murmurs, low and rough. "Not bad."

"Not bad at all." And then another, longer, wetter, messier, just as fierce, battle to control the kiss until Matt bites down on Jack's tongue and he tastes blood, copper bright and distinct.

Jack yanks his head back sharply, teeth scraping along his tongue as he moves, and glares hard at Matt. "The hell was that for?"

"Think you can let go of my wrist now?"

Wrist. Right, yeah, wrist, Matt's wrist, and that's when Jack realises that his fingers are aching from the force of maintaining that grip. He lets go with a breathless huff of laughter, dropping his hands to his thighs. "Let's move this. My place?"

Oh, _that's_ what that smile looks like. No wonder it works so well.


End file.
